


what will survive us has already begun

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blood, First Meetings, Gen, Minor Injuries, Pre-Series, Students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: “Are you sure you’re alright?” the aspiring gymnast asks, peering up at Minako’s face with a frown of concern.  “You should probably go see a doctor.  You’re bleeding.  I’m sorry.  What if something’s broken?  Your face is so pretty, I’d be so sad if I permanently damaged it.”  She cuts herself off with a flush, looking down at the floor.Minako smiles.  Cute.  Blood drips down her face and onto her skirt.  Less cute.  At least the dark color will hide the stain.  She digs into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled, mostly clean handkerchief with a pink and white floral pattern printed on it.  The tiny blossoms disappear under dark smears of red as she wipes the worst of the mess off her mouth and chin.or; Hiroko and Minako: Meet Ugly





	what will survive us has already begun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the YOI Primadonna Zine.
> 
> Title from 'Advice from Rock Creek Park' by Stephanie Burt

Summers are always long in Hasetsu, and even the early days of October mean achingly slow, hot, sticky days. The air hangs thick and still with only the faintest whiff of the sea breeze ever making it past the shoreline, only a few determined gusts managing to work their way far enough inland to reach the junior high school and sneak through the cracked-open windows to caress the sweaty brows of the few students lucky enough to sit in their path. Some of the more diligent students scratch notes on the teacher’s lecture into their notebooks, but most have given up trying to follow the droning words long ago.

The school day ends like a long exhale of relief, students flowing out of classrooms with deliberate purpose but too hot to move as quickly as they would like. They disperse to their club rooms, the bike racks, the bus stop, and gradually the roar of the afterschool rush settles into the hum of the fluorescent light bulbs and the occasional bang of a door somewhere deep in the building. 

Minako reaches up to adjust her ponytail, lifting a few sweaty strands off her neck and back into her hair tie. It’s just her cleaning the classroom today, her assigned partner having rushed off with excuses of _family obligations_ and _terribly sorry, terribly sorry_. She rolls her eyes as she sweeps the broom across the linoleum. As if she does not have places she would rather be.

The studio, for one. Or, well. Really just the studio. It’s tiny, unbearably stuffy and hot, with no windows and no air circulation except for an ancient electric fan tucked in the corner that can barely shift the heavy, humid air no matter how valiantly it tries. But it’s the only place Minako wants to be right now (ever) and she sweeps with the haste and precision of someone with places to go and things to do.

The chalkboard is wiped down with a damp cloth and a stiff window is shoved open wide with a grunt for Minako to lean out and clap the dust out of the erasers. This is always the job she hates the most, the cloud of chalk dust billowing into her face to make her eyes water and provoke a barrage of sneezes. She’s half blind, as she always is, eyes squeezed shut and face scrunched and turned away in a futile defense when she hears a cry of alarm.

There’s nothing Minako can do before the ball hits her—she didn’t even know that that was what the warning was for—before her ears are ringing and she’s dropped the erasers out the window. She’s coughing even harder now, something warm and wet is dripping down her top lip, and she can’t see anything with her eyes watering from the dust, and the shock, and the pain.

“Are you okay?” The voice echoes through the ringing in her ears and Minako presses a hand to her forehead to try and clear the hazy feeling permeating her brain.

“Oh, no, you’re bleeding.” The voice’s owner sets a soft, small hand atop Minako’s wrist. “Can you hear me? Oh, I’m so sorry. Is anything broken? Do you want me to get a teacher? You should probably sit down, yes?”

“No, I’m okay.” Minako shakes her head carefully, patting at the window frame so she won’t hit her head again. “I think I will sit down, though.” Still, with her eyes closed she slowly ducks back inside and feels her way to the nearest desk. The ringing is starting to dissipate and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. They are still watery from grit, but at least she can see now.

And see she does as a girl in a PE uniform climbs in through the open window and drops to the floor next to her.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the aspiring gymnast asks, peering up at Minako’s face with a frown of concern. “You should probably go see a doctor. You’re bleeding. I’m sorry. What if something’s broken? Your face is so pretty, I’d be so sad if I permanently damaged it.” She cuts herself off with a flush, looking down at the floor. 

Minako smiles. Cute. Blood drips down her face and onto her skirt. Less cute. At least the dark color will hide the stain. She digs into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled, mostly clean handkerchief with a pink and white floral pattern printed on it. The tiny blossoms disappear under dark smears of red as she wipes the worst of the mess off her mouth and chin.

“It’s okay,” she says, poking gingerly at her nose, “I don’t think it’s broken. Just a little bruised.”

The other girl does not seem at all mollified by this pronouncement. “Oh no. I’m so sorry,” she says again, “I really should have been more careful.” 

Minako glances at the PE uniform and the tiny girl wearing it and raises an impressed eyebrow. “You kicked that?” The soccer club didn’t exactly practice right next to the classrooms. “That must have been one hell of a kick.”

The girl flushes scarlet. “Um, yeah? I guess? We were practicing penalty kicks and I tend to have a lot of power but my aim isn’t very good.” If it were possible, she manages to turn even brighter red. “As you could probably tell.” 

Minako laughs. “Well, you have half of it down, right? I’m sorry,” she says at the other girl’s confused look, “I don’t really know anything about soccer. But any sport is really just a combination of strength and precision. It sounds like you have the strength. The precision will come with practice.”

The girl ducks her head shyly. “Thank you, you are very kind. What kind of sport do you do, ah,” she pauses, and Minako realizes that just as she does not know this girl’s name this girl does not know her, either.

“I’m Okukawa Minako,” Minako says, holding out her hand. She belatedly notices there are still streaks of blood on her fingers but it is too late to take it back.

“Pleased to meet you, Okukawa-san, I’m Mizukami Hiroko.” Hiroko takes Minako’s hand somewhat awkwardly but shakes it with a firm grip.

Minako realizes for the second time in as many minutes how awkward she is being and feels the heat of a flush rise up her face. Her ballet instructor had been drilling her on proper western etiquette, for when she went to audition for the international schools, and in the awkwardness of the introduction, she’d fallen back on the wrong skill set.

“Oh, and to answer your question, I do ballet,” Minako says, rushing to pave over her faux paux.

Hiroko’s eyes lit up. “Wow,” she says, “that’s cool. Is that a school club, or do you take lessons?”

Minako grins at the other girl’s unbridled enthusiasm. It is rare she gets such a positive reception, especially at their soccer and baseball-obsessed school. And certainly never after someone, in the soccer club, no less, heard her refer to dance in the same terms as any other sport. “I practice in a studio in town,” she said, “and three times a week I go to Fukuoka for lessons.”

“Wow,” Hiroko says again, “maybe I could come to see you dance sometime? Or you could come to watch the soccer club? Do you-” she’s cut off by the sounds of shouting from outside the window. “Oh, no, I got distracted. I’ve been gone too long.” She starts to climb back out the window before turning back to Minako. “You should put some ice on your nose, Okukawa-san, or it will swell. I hope to see you again soon!”

Then she dropped to the ground and disappears from view. Minako is left alone in the quiet classroom, the cries of the retreating soccer players muted and indistinct through the distance and the walls. 

The back of her throat tastes like blood and the bridge of her nose stings when she prods it with her now-ruined handkerchief. She’s going to be late for her studio slot no matter what, but maybe she would stop by the konbini for some ice on the way. It would feel good in the heat, at any rate.


End file.
